Something There That Wasn't There Before
by solice-in-silence
Summary: Drarry content. AU after the war.
1. Chapter 1 - Draco POV

The Manor had been his home as a child. He had grown up in these walls. The building others saw as an imposing and extravagant display of wealth had been home to him. Of course, Draco had always known that he was fortunate - Malfoys don't even pretend they don't know their privileged - but he had felt comfortable in this space. He had known every corner, knew which cursed items to avoid, which family portraits would talk and which would only stare haughtily straight ahead. He knew every twist and turn of the maze in the grounds, he knew the floorboards that creaked and the places that were cold even in the height of summer. This was where Draco belonged.

But it didn't feel that way anymore. The Manor was no longer full of family memories, the occupation by the Dark Lord had stripped away the comforting familiarity and replaced the halls with horrors. Every room reminded him of another nightmare.

His parents had vacated the walls for exactly that reason, unable to cope. His mother had been completely torn between taking her husband to recuperate and leaving her son alone in this building that was not their home anymore. Draco had been the one who insisted.

He had needed some time alone he thought.

There would be no trial for him. No convictions against his parents either, Harry had ensured that - typical. The boy who lived twice still had a noble streak that just wouldn't quit, forgiving them so graciously that it just made him angry. Harry had ensured they were spared the fate of most Death Eaters - in exchange for their continuing co-operation. Lucius was called to the Ministry almost daily to report on what had happened during the war, what he had witnessed, and he knew his mother would be there with his father the whole time, her expression frozen in a way most people mistook for demonstrating a cold, hard heart but he knew was all about pride and control.

He didn't have to report. Why he wasn't sure. Maybe Harry thought even his knowledge, even what he'd witnessed, was worthless. So he stayed at the Manor. He hadn't returned to school - couldn't bear to do so in fact - and he haunted the building.

Oh, his parents visited regularly even if they lived in a London apartment the Ministry assigned. But he still spent an inordinate amount of time drifting around. Alone.

Part of him knew it was unhealthy. He should...well, do something. Embrace the real world. Socialise. Some people would still talk to him, not everyone considered him to be a complete pariah. Even Draco knew this half life he had chosen, and insisted upon being left alone to continue, was far from healthy. And yet he had no urge to change. The idea of contacting old friends or making new ones, or returning to his studies or finding a job, the idea of in anyway building a life and a future...it just seemed like more effort than he could summon at this time.

Everyone thought his family were oh so lucky for being forgiven, for escaping punishment despite the side they'd picked. Draco couldn't be bothered to prove them wrong. In truth, the words 'couldn't be bothered' summed up his entire attitude to life at the moment. He wandered the hallways, remembering the terrible things that had happened here. Hermione's screams. Ollivander sobbing. Ron banging on the dungeon door. The death of Professor Burbage. And the Dark Lord's presence which seemed to linger like a stain that couldn't be scrubbed away.

They might not be sending him to the Azkaban, but he had imprisoned himself in his own way.

A second chance and he was wasting in with brooding. And Firewhiskey.

The Firewhiskey was an important part of his 'coping strategy'.

The winter was drawing in and with it the evenings were dark earlier on. They had only one house elf left, a pathetic creature he kept sending to Hogwarts to socialise and so she couldn't invade his alone time. Draco had not bothered to close the curtains and the dusk invaded the room, the only light being the fire that he was slouched before, his fingers loosely holding the neck of a bottle that had been far heavier when he selected it.

And then somebody had the nerve to knock at the door and disturb him.


	2. Chapter 2 - Draco POV

The path to the door seemed to take longer than usual - mostly because he extended it somewhat by weaving uncertainly. Before he could reach the door there was another knock, his visitor clearly grew impatient judging by the rapid staccato of several raps one after the other.

"I'm coming, I'm coming" he muttered to himself, frustrated. Who was visiting him anyway?

He'd had no friends since the war. Some of his old companions he wanted nothing to do with. Pansy for one - that was a feeling he was sure was mutual. Their relationship had been, on her side, at least partially based off the admiration of his name as well as his looks. She hadn't just wanted Draco for who he was, but what he stood for and represented, and what that in turn meant for her. She had wanted to use him. And now he was of no use. Goyle was not intelligent enough to use someone to his own ends - or, indeed, to know his motivations - and that in turn meant that he wasn't intelligent enough to provide Draco with company. He and Crabbe had never been good for conversation - he'd always turned to Pansy and Blaise for that. Crabbe of course was no longer available to anyone, and Draco had a vague feeling he ought to have felt more grief about that then he did. Blaise had always been worth the effort of conversation,the Zabini was capable of forming an opinion and a coherent sentence on his own ranking him high about Draco's muscle men. But Blaise was arrogant and haughty, and Draco felt far too fragile for the treatment he would have received from him. Nott would have been the preference, but Theodore was unlikely to come spend time with him - his father was in the Azkaban, and the two of them meeting would not have been perceived well by outsiders. He knew Theodore well enough to know he would do nothing to jeopardise his father's trial.

In short, he was friendless. The only people who cared for him were his parents, and neither was likely to knock on the front door of their own home.

It was a mystery that was shortly solved however as, after fumbling with the handle for a moment, he managed to wrench it open and found himself face to face with...Potter?

"What're you going here?" He asked, too stunned by the unexpected guest to manage good manners and too inebriated to disguise his thoughts and question in a more convention greeting. He hadn't even managed drawling sarcasm.

"Lovely to see you too Malfoy".

"Not answering my question" he pointed out, leaning against the door as though this would disguise the fact he was swaying slightly. Draco would have liked to fold his arms contemptuously but wasn't sure he'd have managed it.

Harry scowled slightly, brow furrowing over his glasses - Merlin, the Hero of the Wizarding World and nobody had thought to get him a better pair? Draco couldn't help but reflect. He'd thought the same thing when Potter had been plastered all over the Prophet. Did people think that getting him a decent pair of spectacles would instantly render him unrecognisable? Or did nobody else notice these things?

Draco had noticed this and many other things over the past seven years. He'd noticed how when Harry was angry his skin flushed and the pale outline of his scar appeared even more vivid, a blaze of white in the boy's red face. He'd noticed how Harry's hair continued to be scruffy and almost impossible to tame, black thick hair that made Draco wondered whether it'd be soft to touch, or rough, but most importantly seemed to beg to have fingers stroked through it and handfuls grabbed and tugged. He'd noticed Harry's growth spurt in the fifth year. Till then Draco had been notably taller than Potter, comfortably so for several years actually, but Harry had shot up as his own height dwindled and he wasn't sure who was taller now - though any difference would be marginal. He had noticed how Harry had become all elbows and knees, gangling and awkward in his body which seemed to grow so fast he couldn't adjust to the change, and then how that clumsiness had slid slowly into a slightly awkward grace.

He had seen a lot. Not that he intended to share any of these observations.

"I am here to deliver your summons" Harry said, holding up a scroll of parchment, sealed with a heavy red blob of wax bearing the Ministry emblem. Draco looked at it for a moment before shrugging, stepping aside as an invitation for Harry to come inside.

"Funny, I thought there were owls for that sort of thing. I know you're no longer required to vanquish You-Know-Who, having been so wildly successful, but surely you could come up with a better career for your free time then 'messenger boy'".

Even drunk, Draco knew he was pushing his limits - and all Harry's buttons.

"In your case it was considered necessary that it be delivered by hand. So you couldn't pretend you didn't know about it. You are required to attend the hearing to give evidence, Malfoy" Harry pointed out, hesitating on the doorstep for a moment before coming inside with a sigh that indicated he did not need this stress, that wheedling a tipsy boy he'd spent years bickering with had not been his first choice for the way to occupy his evening.

"Required is it? Best I do as I'm told then" he responded, padding down the hallway, leaving it up to Harry whether he followed or not, but able to hear Potter's footsteps behind him as he returned to the room he spent so much time occupying.

"Whiskey?" he offered, turning to Potter, swaying with the suddenness of his movement, as he held up the bottle he'd been drinking from. "You look tense Potter, you could use a drink. Aren't we all supposed to be all safe now? Thanks to you, the hero of the wizarding world" he pointed out, looking around for a clean glass.

"No. And I don't think you should be drinking either. You've clearly had enough Malfoy".


	3. Chapter 3 - Harry POV

Alcohol was something Harry had little experience with. Some Hogwarts students might find the time to experiment, to concoct liquids with a different sort of effect in their cauldrons or to smuggle in bottles from home and spend the evening giggling in the Common Room as they discovered what sort of drunk they were - but Harry had always had more pressing concerns on his agenda. Alcohol and normal teenage rebellion had been the last thing on his mind.

He supposed he had time now. He could indulge. But the world still seemed to be spinning and he wasn't sure if he'd landed yet.

It wasn't how he thought it would be. He'd gone from Hogwarts to The Burrow, it should have been a triumphant homecoming, with the people that were his family. The victory was always going to be tinged with grief, they had lost so many friends, but it still shouldn't have felt...well, at times, awkward. Ron and Hermione were still his best friends, and always would be, he was sure but they had spent a lot of the summer wrapped up in each other. Hermione was back at Hogwarts now, but still, the focus on their friendship had shifted and Harry felt like the outsider now. He was thrilled for them, but it still felt lonelier now.

Perhaps they had thought he wouldn't matter - he had Ginny, after all. But that didn't feel right either. When his life had been in danger, he'd clung to the idea of normal, to this person who could make him laugh. But now...

He cared about her still. He didn't want to hurt her. But he felt like as though he were distant from her, and he wasn't sure how to break down the barrier between them.

So, to avoid it seeming like he was avoiding her, he had thrown himself into work, as though being as busy as possible would give him an excuse. Harry was hoping this would occupy him, that all that was wrong was grief and the odd sense of anticlimax, and that if he worked through it he'd feel like himself and things would slot into place again. That was why he had agreed to take the summons. They did want it delivered in person, but it certainly didn't have to be Harry who did it - he had volunteered.

In a way, as well, he felt responsible for Draco - for all the Malfoys. Narcissa had saved his life. He could not deny that. She may have had her own reasons, but she had saved his life - and had lied to possibly the most successful Legilimens to do so. Had Voldemort picked a different person to check...Harry knew he wouldn't have been so lucky. So, in turn, he saved her family - not just their lives, but he also shielded them from punishment. It felt appropriate he be the one to summon Draco.

As Draco clumsily poured a generous splash of Firewhiskey into a crystal tumbler that Harry suspected was worth more than everything he wore he compared the boy before with him with his reflections.

In his mind's eye, when he thought of Draco, he thought of him still as he had been in his fourth and fifth years. Utterly sure of his good looks - and of course, it was irritating because that arrogance was entirely accurate. Sarcastic, flippant, smug, cocky - in his memory, that was still Draco.

But of course, that hadn't been the case for the past few years. He should be used to this side of Draco. The weight loss and the shadows beneath his eyes, the brittle personality that threatened to crack at any moment, the way his shoulders sloped with despair. This was Draco as he had been in the sixth year and the war, and Harry supposed after all this time, he ought to be used to - but it still felt wrong.


	4. Chapter 4 - Draco POV

"Because you know all about my limits" Draco pointed out, snorting with derision as he poured Firewhiskey. He needed a second glass, and for a moment his fingers hoovered around his wand, lying on the table, but even he knew that was a bad idea and instead he walked across the room and snagged a second tumbler.

"I don't want any" Harry said, figuring out where this was going.

"Sober guests when I'm drunk are unbearable. You can drop the summons and leave or you can join me in a drink" Draco informed him, fully expected it to be the former. There really was no need for him to have invited Harry in, or for Harry to have followed. But his words weren't said to try and push Harry back out the door, and he suspected it showed just how lonely he was. He must seem desperate if he'd rather have Potter than solitude - and Harry must think Draco especially pitiable if he lingered.

Part of his mind knew this, but he poured a second glass - as generous as his own helping - and nodded to Harry to collect it as he lifted his own and took a gulp. He was rather proud of how well he masked the burn as it slid down his throat, and he threw himself in the armchair to watch and see if Harry would accept this invitation.

For a moment Harry considered the glass, his fingers lifting the glass after a moment.

Well...it couldn't hurt to try. That was the thought as he lifted it to his mouth and took a cautious mouthful, copying Draco in that he didn't sip it for swallowed a full gulp - and then, unlike Malfoy who made it look so easy, he promptly began to splutter as he dropped it back to the table. Malfoy couldn't help the laugh that escaped him as he watched Harry grimace at the taste.

"That tastes as bad as Polyjuice Potion" Harry informed Draco, one hand lifting to his throat as though that'd soothe the burning.

"My understanding of that is that it depends who you're drinking" Draco said, shrugging. He'd read about the potion, but never brewed it himself. It hadn't just been the Head of his House that had gotten him by in Potions, it had interested him - back when he still had interests. He was intrigued to hear that Harry knew the taste well, although he supposed there was a lot of Harry's activities over the past year that weren't public knowledge yet.

"Besides, Firewhiskey is just like Polyjuice - you don't drink it for the taste, but for the effect" he informed Potter, taking another sip from his glass. Harry declined to give it another try, sitting down on the sofa instead, perched on the edge of the cushion and rubbing his thighs with nervous hands, his actions betraying just how out of place he felt.

"Well, judging from you, the effect isn't all that great" he pointed out, not looking at Draco as he spoke but around the room - or what could be seen of the room. The fire still danced but it wasn't enough to illuminate the dark corners and shadowy ceiling.

Draco supposed he couldn't argue with that.

He watched Potter for a moment, using the fact that Harry seemed to be scanning the room as though expecting the shadows to hold nightmares as an opportunity. He looked...well, better then Draco that was for sure. Rested for starters, and cared for - the hair might still be scruffy but the clothes were clean and pressed, somebody was making sure Potter looked smart. Tanned as well, like he'd found time to visit the beach this summer, there were new freckles across his nose and he made Draco think of sand and the sea and sunshine, like a literal breath of fresh air. He glanced at those hands again, they dropped to the sofa cushions and then sprung back to his lap as though afraid of what he might have touched.

"Don't worry. You-Know-Who never sat there, if that's whats got you all on edge" Draco told Harry, the sarcasm dropped for a moment and his voice sincere. He wouldn't blame Harry if that's what had him on edge. To sit in a space occupied by evil might have anyone fidgeting.

"That wasn't what I was concerned about" Potter hold him after a moment, making an effort to appear relaxed although the tension still showed, his body coiled as though intending to jump up at any moment.

"No? I would be" Draco admitted, shuddering slightly.

"So where did Voldemort sit?" Harry said, betraying that it had been at least part of his concern. Draco flinched slightly at the name, and then shifted as though to hide the reaction.

"In the dining room. I burned the chair". It had been solid carved mahogany, hundreds of years old, the seat which had occupied the head of the table for Malfoy families for generations...and Draco had dragged it out to the year and turned it into kindling for a bonfire, showering afterwards till his pale skin was red from the heat to get the feeling off of himself.

"His room...is locked. I'm still expecting Aurors to come and strip it, and they are quite welcome to it" he added, bitter as he took another sip of Firewhiskey.

"They will. Priority right now is dealing with those still out there. The belongings can wait. Your mother already gave us anything that might help track them down" Harry explained, sounding, for once in his interactions with Draco, kind.

"That and questioning families you've apparently pardoned. What's the plan, hmm?" Draco asked, looking back at Harry who frowned at the question.

"The plan?" he repeated.

"Is it our actions or your judgement they're questioning?"


	5. Chapter 5 - Harry POV

Harry frowned at the question, frustrated.

"Why would they be questioning my judgement?" he asked. There had been a few eyebrows raised initially, but ultimately, it was accepted the Malfoys had acted from fear and Narcissa had taken steps to save Harry's life. There were no crimes attributed to them beyond the fact that their home had been used by Voldemort, and that had not been their choice. Nobody was about to give the Malfoys the Merlin Award, but equally, nobody was blaming though for their actions at this time. Draco just seemed determined to cast himself as a victim of hatred that he didn't deserve.

"Nobody is questioning my judgement. But your parents were here with Voldemort" Despite seeing Draco flinch, he carried on - he hadn't been scared to say the name during the war, he certainly wasn't going to be afraid of the word now. "They heard more of what was happening then anyone else. We need that information. That is what is happening" Harry said, his voice slow, as though talking to a child - or a moron. He knew Draco to be intelligent, but he strongly suspected the effects of the alcohol meant the message wouldn't get through.

"And me?" Draco asked, nodding toward the summons before taking another sip.

"You were here too" Harry pointed out, and Malfoy rolled his eyes dramatically.

"I wasn't exactly involved I can assure you" he drawled. "You-Know-Who wasn't sharing his big plans with me. My whole family were in disgrace and me the most of all" he said, slumping further down into his seat.

Harry had figured that. After all, he knew that Draco had been set a huge task and had failed, with Snape completing it for them - it certainly seemed unlikely the Malfoys would have been Voldemort's first choice of confident, especially somebody as young as Draco. But -

"Everyone who was in his confidences in either dead or not talking. Mostly dead" Harry said. Most had preferred to die fighting rather than surrender when their leader fell. Harry supposed that was not great loss to the wizarding world - and solved the problem of where to keep them. Kingsley had never been keen on the Dementors and was eager to rid them from the Azkaban, which meant a new solution had to be found. The fewer prisoners there were to handle in the meantime, the better.

"If you don't help...that'll have people questioning my judgement and your reasons" Harry said, not threatening Draco, just...informing him. "If you don't show up for the summons..." He wasn't sure what to say to convince Malfoy. Wasn't sure if he could convince him.


	6. Chapter 6 - Draco POV

Even drunk, Draco disliked the idea of being 'summoned' to the Ministry, and it showed as he wrinkled his nose, unimpressed with Harry trying to talk him into it. Well, no - not talk him into it. Silence him into it really, the sentences trailing off helplessly.

"You might have a heart of gold but you'll need a silver tongue to persuade me Potter, and I think it's clear that you don't have" he pointed out, taking another slug from his glass. He was feeling nicely fuzzy now, which actually made conversation easier for Draco. He wasn't pretending for once, his tongue was loosened and he was being himself. Probably a terrible plan, but he'd worry about that during the hangover. He felt warm, cocooned in a Firewhiskey blanket almost, as he watched Harry stumble for words.

"Did you really think you'd convince me?" he asked, curious. the question didn't seem appreciated by Harry, who frowned slightly.

"I'm not here to convince you Malfoy. You are required to attend, it's a summons not an invite" Potter pointed out. "It's part of the deal. No prison sentence, but you're expected to co-operate".

"And you're here to tell me this?" he checked, raising an eyebrow incredulously. Draco wasn't buying it. The Boy Who Lived Twice now had nothing to do but turn up to the houses of people who'd co-operate with the Dark Lord during the war and deliver their summons?

He knew Harry had a point. He would have to go. Draco wasn't in a position to refuse, and he wouldn't want to make things more difficult for his parents by being awkward for the sake of it. Better he went along - they'd figure out quickly he had nothing useful to say and give up on him. Right now though...he definitely wanted to know what brought Potter to his door.

"I'm here to tell you this. As the person who kept you out the Azkaban during this investigation, I figure you owe it to me to turn up" Harry told him, rolling his eyes and clearly getting riled up now.

Which only made Draco more curious as he sat up, leaning forward to put his glass down before turning to Potter again.

It didn't make any sense. Harry was supposed to have it all right now. A shining future as a famous hero able to essentially do anything he wanted - no employer was going to turn down Potter, he didn't have to live with Muggles anymore, he didn't have the threat of the Dark Lord over his shoulder, he was no doubt staying at the Weasleys and back with Ginny, and even Draco would acknowledge she was cute - if freckles, ginger hair and a fiery temper were your thing anyway. She certainly wasn't Draco's type. But the fact remained that Harry was supposed to have everything he wanted...and he was here delivering a summons scroll to the boy who had been his school rival.

Questions were getting Draco no where.

Sober, the tactic that occurred to him might have crossed his mind, but he wouldn't have tried it. His mother had taught Draco legilimency. His Aunt Bellatrix believed she taught him the other side of the skill, the power to block people from his mind - but what Bella didn't know was the Narcissa had already trained Draco. His lessons had been to hide how much he had already been taught from the Dark Lord. Everything Bella 'thought' she had caught from his mind whilst training him in occlumency had been a trick - he was using Bellatrix's lessons to test the skills he'd already learned, not because he was uninitiated.

It wasn't subtle, it wasn't mind-reading - Harry would know what Draco was doing without a doubt. But he was curious, and drunk enough to be fool hardy. His gaze lifted to meet Harry's gaze and he spoke softly.

"Legilimens".

Some practitioners are subtle, but Draco didn't know enough to manage that - and he also had a specific goal in mind, which made it harder because it wasn't just surface thoughts. He was seeking his own name in Potter's mind, for clues as to what brought Harry here.

The thoughts were jumbled for a moment. It was odd seeing through Harry's eyes, seeing flashes of memories that he was pretty sure he had as well but seeing how he had looked instead of how Harry had looked - the weird backwards experience of spotting himself bleeding on a bathroom floor for a split second. There were more images of Draco at different ages, with emotions attached to them - annoyance and anger and frustration and envy, at times and then -

 _Draco shirtless, smirking, coming closer, leaning in, and Harry's eyes closing as they kissed and then -_

 _Harry waking up from the dream_

But Draco could feel the confused arousal Harry had experienced, could feel all his emotions, the way he almost wanted Draco to be up to something as an excuse to be obsessed with him and talking about him because by that point he'd developed an urge to talk about Draco and wasn't sure how to cope with that, the way that he'd sometimes kiss Ginny and fleetingly wonder if kissing Draco would feel the same, he could feel the confused ball of dislike and annoyance and attraction despite it all dammit that existed in Harry and he withdraw from Potter's mind rapidly, staring at him for a moment in shock as Harry turned pink.


	7. Chapter 7 - Harry POV

He could feel the other boy in his mind, the first emotion he felt though was annoyance at himself for not working harder at Snape's lessons. It was hard to think with his thoughts being rifled through, flicked through so rapid like the pages of a book Draco was considering buying, his emotions and his thoughts filled with the images Draco saw...including the dream.

Harry had never told anyone about the dreams - plural because they had happened so often. They had begun in his fifth year, and increased their regularity through his sixth year. The beginning was always bizarre, as dreams so often are, he never had more than a vague idea of what happened 'before'. But they always resulted in Draco making a move on him...and in Harry waking up far too early for his liking, either with an erection or sticky, demonstrating that the issue had been dealt with.

He told himself he didn't know why he was having these dreams. He ignored the fact that they continued whilst he was with Ginny - ignored the fact that she didn't appear in his dreams like this. He tried to ignore the whole thing.

He had been grateful they faded during the war - the last thing he needed whilst so often sharing a tent with Hermione and Ron was for him to be murmuring Draco's name in his sleep.

But since the final battle, as things began to settle back down, as he began a 'normal' life...they had returned.

And now Draco knew about them.

Now he was mad at Draco, but he didn't thrust the other boy from his head, he felt Draco withdrew, and for a moment the two just stared at each other, silent, as both digested what had just happened.

"That...that was none of your business Malfoy" he began, the shame at what had been found actually making it harder for him to be outright angry. Yes, Draco had no right, but the knowledge of what Malfoy now knew, the way he could blackmail Harry made his voice shake slightly. Everything would be ruined. Frantically he tried to think (was it a sign that he was Muggle raised or just not so bright that magic never occurred to him in moments like this?) but the overriding thought right now was that he had to get out, get out of here, get away from here, and think of something. Come up with a plan on his own, because for once he couldn't go to Hermione, not without sharing this, and then she'd tell Ron, and he couldn't know, because Ginny, Molly -

His head was spinning and it had nothing to do with the swig of Firewhiskey he'd had earlier as he shifted and went to stand.

"Wait-"

Draco speaking, the blonde boy launching himself out the armchair so suddenly it looked for a second as though he might topple forward. Exactly what happened in the next ten seconds he wasn't sure, he felt frozen into place and he was sure he hadn't moved which meant it must have been all Malfoy as suddenly the other boy's mouth was on his, Draco leaning over him on the sofa, and cold fingers raked through his hair and down to the base of his neck.

It was nothing like kissing Ginny, or Cho. The was far less gentle, tongue and teeth immediately, Draco didn't wait for Harry to take the lead. It was fierce and forceful, and for a moment he didn't even know how to react, just there letting Malfoy kiss him - and then his mouth seemed to kick in and take part and his hands were on Draco's shoulders, more so he felt like a participant than any real plan, as the other moved to straddle his lap in a move that made his stomach twist and roll over and flood with heat in one almost sickening flush of lust and anxiety that blurred together. Hesitant he broke the kiss for a moment.

"What Potter? Never had a dream come true before?" Draco asked, the old sarcasm back which he preferred to the moping but at the same time it was so annoying, and he could have told Malfoy to shut it up it was easier to yank him back down into the kiss again.


End file.
